Wings of Honor
by KayValo87
Summary: Scott leaves on a mysterious and dangerous mission, one he insists on doing alone that is tied to a secret from his past. The only question is, will he make it back alive?
1. Chapter 1

First of all, I would like to apologize for my lack of posting recently. About two months ago I had a huge family crisis and have yet to fulling recover from it, emotionally.

Anyway, as a way to try to get back into the swing of things, I am writing two short stories (maybe three) in honor of veteran's day.

Now, these stories have no beta and are not going to be my best work, but I hope you still like them.

**DISCLAIMER:** Anything recognizable is not mine.

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><p><strong>Chapter 1<strong>

"Would you just tell us where you are going?"

Scott sighed inwardly as he closed the lid on his suitcase. Virgil meant well, as did the rest of his brothers that he knew where probably waiting in the hallway as the middle Tracy had his turn trying to get the eldest to talk. Only thing was, it wasn't going to happen.

"Virg, there are just some things I guy needs to handle on his own."

Picking up his bag, he headed out of the island's living area and towards the hanger. Just as he thought, Gordon and Alan were right there ready to talk him out of what he was about to do … even if they didn't know what it was. Scott gave them a tight smile and briskly walked down the hall. He didn't have time to explain his actions, even if he could. There family didn't keep many secrets, not from each other anyway, but this was different.

"Scott."

He stopped at the door of their plane, the sound of his father's voice freezing him in his tracks. He sent up a silent plea that Jeff would just let him go, that he wouldn't ask as many questions as the others had. He had never disobeyed an order from his dad and he certainly didn't want to start now.

"I have to go, Father"

"I know," Jeff replied solemnly. "I just noticed that you didn't enter a return date in your flight plan."

"What?" Alan exclaimed. "You are coming back … aren't you?"

Scott looked over his shoulder, trying to portray with a smile whatever reassurance he could. He hoped to be back, the only question was whether or not he lived long enough to do it. But if this was going to be the last time he saw them, there was not need to make it depressing.

"Trust me."

With those words he entered the family jet and began the take off procedures. It wasn't until the island was just another dot on the radar that Scott began to let himself go back. As his body steered his plan with practiced ease, his mind drifted to the event that now caused him to leave everything behind …

**/'/'/'/'/'10 YEARS EARLIER'\'\'\'\'\**

"Heads up!"

Scott looked up from his book just in time to catch an object before it busted his nose. As grateful as he was for a break, and a snack, he couldn't help but glare at his fellow airman grinning from the doorway. Lieutenant James Jones, son of the near legendary Brigadier General Gerald Jones, always made Scott feel at home. He had John's blond hair, Virgil's brown eyes, Gordon's sense of humor and Alan's knack for finding trouble. Yup, having him around was just like home.

"We got apples," James stated triumphantly, bitting into his own juicy fruit.

"I can see that," Scott commented dryly. "The way you talk, one would think you brought them in yourself."

"Who says I didn't?" The other officer asked mysteriously, dropping into the chair across from Scott.

He set his book on the crate that served as their coffee table and took a bite of his snack. The hadn't had a shipment of fresh fruit in a while and it was a nice changed from their usual food. But neither the apple or break lasted and all too soon Scott had to return to his reading.

"Come on, Saint," James groaned. "You know we are on liberty right?"

"And you know that some of us would like to reach a rank higher then lieutenant, right?" Scott shoot back. "In fact, Joker, it wouldn't hurt for you to hit the books too."

"Been there, done that," James replied with a dismissive wave of his hand. "I graduated the Academy, got my rank, and made my father proud."

"For about five minutes," another voice cut in.

Instantly, both men jumped to their feet as their commanding officer strode into the room. Lt Colonel Nicolas Stevenson wasn't a particularly tall man, coming about to Scott's chin, but he still carried himself as if he could take the world. This made most of the men under his command fear him, but there wasn't a single one that didn't respect him.

"As you were," he said briskly, moving to stand in front of them.

Scott relaxed, but remained standing. James dropped back into his chair, discreetly knocking the apple cores off the table. Why did the eldest Tracy son suddenly get the feeling he had just eaten contraband? If he wound up on another twenty mile run over an apple he was going to kill James. Luckily, Stevenson ignored the motion and turned to Scott.

"Tracy, I have an assignment for you."

"Yes sir?"

"We have a new guy flying in from the states, a civilian aide," the Lt Colonel began. 'Now I told those bureaucrats in Washington we were doing fine over here by ourselves, but they insist they need a man on the inside."

"You want me to keep an eye on him, sir?"

Scott couldn't help but feel a bit disappointed. He was trying to reach the rank of Captain, and getting the job of babysitting a government flunky wasn't exactly the mark of a stellar career. However, an assignment was an assignment and he would do and task handed him to the best of his ability.

"No, no," Stevenson shook his head, alleviating Scott's fears. "I'd never give a crap assignment like that to a man with your record. No, Jones will be babysitting the bureaucrat. I want you to make sure he doesn't screw up."

Scott had to suppress the urge to smile at the look on his friends face. Too many emotions to name. But, to his commander, he merely nodded and spoke with complete confidence.

"I'll make sure his visit runs smoothly."

"See that you do," Stevenson replied, before turning to look down on James. "His plane lands at 1700, don't be late."

"Yes sir."

With one final nod, Stevenson left the tent and James let out a huge groan. This time Scott didn't bother hiding his smile as he took his seat and reached for the book.

"You brought this on yourself, Joker," he chuckled.

"Ourselves, you mean," James shot back. "Or did you forget that while I am babysitting the pencil pusher, **you** are babysitting **me**."

"I have brothers," Scott reminded him. "I'm used to it."

"Yeah, well, maybe we'll get lucky and 'he' will turn out to be a hot blonde named Candy or Violet."

"Candy," Scott raised an eyebrow.

"It could happen!"

Shaking his head, Scott turned back to his book. Yup, just like home.

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><p>There's part one, what do you think?<p>

Let me know while I work on part two.


	2. Chapter 2

Sorry about the wait on this. I guess I underestimated the emotional mess I ... well ... I'm still in.

Anyway, I wrote most of this in the middle of the night, so please be nice about any typos. (I tried to catch them all, but it's kinda 1:30 in the morning.)

I hope you still like it ...

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><p><strong>Chapter 2<strong>

"Don't be late, he says," James grumbled. "Should have told that the the pilot."

Scott refrained from commenting as he scanned the sky for the transport plane they had been waiting on for almost an hour. There had been no radio contact since it left international airspace and he was beginning to get worried. But his fears were alleviated when he spotted a shape coming towards them.

"There they are," he announced, peering at the powerful craft through his binoculars.

It may not have been as sleek or as graceful as the jets he flew, but the transport had a beauty all it's own. After a smooth landing, the large plane taxied around to where Scott and James were waiting. When the hatch opened, Scott got the pleasant surprise of seeing, not a government suit, but his friend Tom Roderick. His skin was more tanned then the last time he had seen the Navy pilot, which only served to enhance his blue eyes and honey brown hair.

"Hey guys," Tom waved, stepping out of his plane. "So, you couldn't behave yourselves in the states so they had to ship you out here?"

"You should talk," James shot back. "I thought you were going to be in the south pacific by now."

"At least I have a good chance of getting there," Tom replied with a grin. "Not a whole lot of airbases on the islands are there, flyboys?"

James opened his mouth, but Scott had other things on his mind then friendly banter. It was times like this being the oldest of five brothers came in handy as he easily derail the verbal sparing match and changed the subject.

"So, you brought us a government liaison?"

Though his tone was light, his words seemed to cast a shadow over Tom and his cobalt eyes turned serious. He glanced over his shoulder, bringing Scott's attention to the man stepping out of the plane. The bureaucrat was just as he had imagined him; a stark black suite over a crisp white shirt with matching sunglasses. Considering they were in Central America, the guy was setting himself up for a bad case of heat stroke. However, the man himself had little to do with Scott's concerns … unless he was the cause of him.

"Tom?" James prodded, his tone serious for once. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," he said quickly, turning away from the liaison.

"Does this have something to do with why you were late?" Scott questioned.

"We had mechanical problems," Tom replied, sounding a bit too rehearsed for comfort.

"Uh-huh," James scoffed. "What kind of mechanical problems?"

"I'm not at liberty to say."

"Not at liberty- What the-"

While James was trying to verbally finish a thought, Scott's mind was racing to come up with an answer for Tom's strange behavior. Being in the military, one learned how to keep secrets … but this was something else. This was something bad, something dangerous. Scott had been able to read people for a long time, came with being the oldest, and he could see fear in those cobalt eyes.

"Tom," he dropped his voice to just above a whisper, "whatever it is, you know you can trust us. Right?"

"I know, Scott," he answered in the same tone, once again glancing back at his passenger who was getting closer. "Just watch your backs, okay?"

Neither Scott or James got a chance to respond since the man from the government, and obvious source of Tom's fear, had just arrived at their group causing Tom to hurry back to his plane. With short dark hair and a pair of simple shades, the liaison was as unremarkable as any pencil pushing bureaucrat he had ever met, but that was only on the outside. There was something about this guy, something dangerous, and he was going to find out what.

**/'/'/'/'/'PRESENT DAY'\'\'\'\'\**

Stepping out of Tracy One, Scott took a look around the airfield. It had long ago retired from military use and almost looked as if most civilians tended to avoid it as well. Now a privately owned airstrip, it's primary use was as a flight school. Even so, in his minds eye Scott could see the row of jets waiting for deployment, or a transport ferrying down the runway. This place had been home once, but now it was nothing but a shell of it's former self, painted over with bright colors to try and hide the shadows. But they were still there, as was the sense of dread he had felt on this very runway all those years ago.

"Mr. Tracy?"

He looked up at the sound up his name, forcing his emotions back so he could slip into the role of bored billionaire that everyone was expecting. Scott gave a polite smile to the two met approaching him. One was tall with cropped blond hair and steel gray eyes. The other looked almost a foot shorter with a mop of black curls. Both were wearing simple button up shirts, khaki pants, and were followed by a group of what looked like students with starstruck expressions. The last part he had been expecting. After all, it wasn't everyday that an heir to one of the world's largest technological fortunates asks for permission to land at a humble flight school. Of course he had his reasons for coming here, not that he could or would share them with this group. In fact, for safety's sake, he had better clear the lot of them from the area and fast.

"Mr. Davis," Scott said with a casual tone. "Thank you for the use of your runway."

"No trouble at all," the blond responded dismissively. "I'm just happy that it was adequate."

Scott just smiled, noting that Mr. Davis must run the business side of things here. Of course a former military runway would be adequate for a small jet. The thing could probably handle the launch of Thunderbird two, except for the fact it's booster jets would disintegrate a chunk of the local foliage. Thank God for vertical take off capabilities.

"If there is anything you need," the shorter man cut into Scott's thoughts, "just let us know."

"As a matter of fact there is, Mr. Amos. You see, I am trying to find a … well, a retreat of sorts. Somewhere out of the way were I can get some alone time. You have no idea how crowded a private island can get."

There was some pilot chuckling at the comment, but the oldest Tracy brother could tell they had no idea what he was hinting at. It looked as if he was going to have to use a more direct approach.

"I was wondering if I could rent your property, just for a while," he explained. "And I would really appreciate your discretion. I came here to get away, not be hounded by media."

"Of course, Mr. Tracy," Mr. Davis gushed. "Whatever you want."

"Of course, we still have our lessons to give," Mr. Amos added. "But we will try not to disturb you too much."

"Actually, I was hoping to rent the whole place, just for a few days."

"But sir," Mr. Amos gestured at the group behind him, "my students …"

Scott looked them over. Most of them were no older than Alan, innocence shining in their eyes, no idea of the danger that lurked in their own backyard. School or not, he had to clear the area and it looked as if there was only one way to do it. He didn't really like playing the spoiled rich kid card, but there were times it was a necessary evil. As casually as if he were pulling out a pocket watch to check the time, Scott removed a large roll of bills from his pocket and started to flip through them.

"Will this be enough to guarantee my privacy for a week?"

He handed Mr. Davis a generous stack of bills which the businessman took eagerly, shushing his parter with a wave of his hand. It was a crude, but effective, method and didn't look all that great for his public image. Though, at the moment, the safety of these people was far more important then what the tabloids thought of him. An hour later he watched the last of said people drive off and Scott was alone. Just him, his memories, and the threat of death looming on the horizon.

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><p>So? What do you think?<p>

Let me know while I try to get the next part up sooner.


	3. Chapter 3

Once again, sorry for the wait, but I had family over for the holidays.

Anyway, enjoy ...

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><p><strong>Chapter 3<strong>

Scott took his time wondering the compound, reminiscing in all the good times he had there when he was stationed there. He easily found the area that had been used for housing, even the site of the tent he and James shared. James. What a character he had been, acting as though they were soldiers back in the day, hiding messages for his buddies to find later.

"I wonder …" Scott murmured.

Scanning the nearby trees, he wracked his memory to find the right one. Sure enough, tucked into the root was a small tin box, the words 'viva la resistance' etched into the lid. The sight of it brought a small chuckle and a wave of memories. James had indeed formed a resistance … of about five people. When Stevenson had become fed up with what he thought of as lazy behavior, he shut down the cinema that had been the small base's main form of entertainment. The resistance refused to cave however and a small group of young officers enjoyed a movie night in the shower building. They even had the water running most of the time just to hide the sounds of the picture. It was amazing that they managed to get away with it, and nothing short of a miracle that Scott managed to talk James out of risking a double feature.

"You always were the rebel, Joker," Scott chuckled to himself as he sifted through the contents of the box.

There wasn't much in it. A Polaroid of the so-called resistance with their 'borrowed' projector; a centerfold that Stevenson had taken from James, which the younger man promptly took back; a wooden yo-yo; and a half eaten pack of chewing gum. Shaking his head at the juvenile assortment, Scott tucked the box back in place and rose to his feet. There was one more place he had to go, and it was no where near as pleasant. As he approached the cement structure, he was nearly overwhelmed with the emotions the building brought to the surface. Like his former camp site, Scott had many memories of this place. Some filled with joy, others regret, then there were those who brought nothing but deep pain and sorrow. Death had come to these walls and that was a stain no amount of time could ever wash away.

**/'/'/'/'/'10 YEARS AGO'\'\'\'\'\**

"Here we are, the presidential suite," James announced as he threw the door open to the small but well furnished room. "Of course, you will have to move if the President does in fact show up."

Giving only a small grunt in acknowledgment, their guest went straight to the desk in the corner and opened his briefcase. For the source of Tom's fear, Robert Hatfield didn't seem like much. Dry and dull as a soda cracker, he hadn't said a word of greeting since they picked him up from the airstrip. Scott had remained silent as well as he studied the liaison. First glance he looked like any other bureaucrat, but after watching the way he moved for a bit one could see he hadn't always been chained to a desk. This guy had seen action, the kind that came with blacked out documentation if Scott was to wager a guess. But why would they send a guy with that kind of background just to double check their inventory registry?

"Lt. Tracy," Hatfield said suddenly.

Startled, Scott half expected to be given a lecture on staring, but both were cut off before they had the chance.

"That's me," James stated.

"Nice try, Lt. Jones," Hatfield replied dryly, not looking up from his paperwork. "Unfortunately for you, I have already looked over the personnel files of everyman on this base."

Now Scott knew there was more to this visit then they were told. A man did not read over three hundred personnel files to check how they spent their resources, but what was with the ruse? Even Stevenson appeared to be in the dark, since he would never give an important assignment to James … or at least, not after last time.

"Did you even have time to read my file? James questioned.

"Enough to be glad I am not an ambassador."

"She was of age."

"She was his daughter."

"He overreacted."

"Whether he did or not is not my concern," Hatfield said dismissively, looking up at them. "What I need now are your inventory manifests. Perhapses you can get them for me while I speak to Lt. Tracy about the rest of my stay."

"Why do you need to talk to him?" James almost demanded, taking a defensive posture in front of Scott.

"It's he my liaison?"

"No, I'M your liaison. He is MY liaison."

"I see," Hatfield signed. "I will have to see about getting that amended. In the meantime, I need those manifests and a meeting with Lt. Col. Stevenson. Since you are my liaison, I trust you can handle that."

Though James looked as if he would rather punch him or tell him off, probably both, a subtly look from Scott seemed to remind him that it wasn't just his career at stake if he flattened the guy. That, and most likely that alone, kept his temper in check as he stalked from the room. Scott moved to follow when a voice held him back.

"Not you, Lt. Tracy. I have a few things I would like to discuss with you as well."

Remembering Tom's warning, Scott stayed near the open door, but turned to face the official. Hatfield was busy looking through his brief case, but still motioned for him to close the door. Torn between the sense of foreboding that had been growing since Tom's departure and the curiosity to find out what was going on, Scott complied. Once they were alone, Hatfield switched on something that looked like a radio, but emitted a small buzzing noise.

"Now we can talk freely," Hatfield said seriously, "and I imagine you have a few questions for me."

"Such as why a government pencil pusher is carrying around a sonic jammer?" Scott shot back.

If Hatfield was through playing games, then so was he. It was time for some answers.

"A honest question, and it deserves an honest answer."

He pulled a thick folder from his briefcase and swiveled in his chair so that he was facing Scott, a look of fierce determination in his eyes. Gone was the dull little man who stepped off the plan, this guy meant business.

"The first thing you should know is, I am not Robert Hatfield," the man stated. "I'm not even from Washington."

"Then who are you?"

"My name is not important, but what is important is that I am an agent of the world government. My mission is classified so no one, not even your commanding officer, is to know my real identity."

"Why tell me?"

"Because I need a contact, someone I know I can trust, and of all the personal on this base you were the only one we knew for sure wasn't the one we are looking for."

"What do you mean?"

The man paused, causing Scott to wonder if he really wanted to know the answer.

"Lt. Tracy … there is a traitor on this base."

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><p>That's all for now. What do you think so far?<p>

If I get a really good response I will take my laptop with me to work and ... I mean ... of course I wouldn't write the next chapter at work ... officially ... but If I was to do that I may get the next part up before I go to bed.

Otherwise, I will try to get it up by Wednesday.


	4. Chapter 4

I meant to have this up earlier, but work was so busy that I didn't get a chance to work on it.

The present day part is a bit short, but I hope that the extra long past section makes up for it.

Anyway, I got a good response, so here you go ...

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><p><strong>Chapter 4<br>**

Scott couldn't believe his ears. A traitor? Someone on his base, someone who he lived and worked with was a traitor? How could that be?

"There has to be some mistake."

"No mistake, Lieutenant. Trust me, I would not be here if we were not sure."

"But who?" Scott asked, still trying to wrap his head around the idea.

"That's what I am here to find out."

He turned in his chair so that he could place the file on the desk and flip it open. Scott took a step forward to peer over the man's shoulder while he located a list among the papers. The list was extensive, containing the name of over half of the enlisted men and nearly every officer on the base.

"About six months ago we received a tip that someone was selling secrets to a nearby terrorist cell. We managed to track the leak to this base," Hatfield explained. "Our in-tell suggests that the person in question is probably an officer, but we are not ruling out the possibility that they are one of the higher ranked enlisted personnel."

"Who is your most likely candidate?"

"Hard to say. Our biggest fear is that it is one of the commanders."

"Surely you don't think Col Stevenson-"

"We are not ruling anyone out at this time … except you of course."

"Why me?"

Hatfield gave him a look that said it should have been obvious, but Scott wanted a direct answer. He had trusted his life to many of these men, and they did the same with him. What made him so special that he was automatically taken off the list when people like Lt. Col. Stevenson were not?

"You have no motive," Hatfield explained. "A promising career and strong character references, not to mention the fact your father's company leaves you better off then any terrorist cell financially, we could find no reason for you to betray anyone. Simply put, you have little to gain and far too much to loose."

As true as it was, the same could be said for dozens of other officers on the base, except maybe the billionaire father part. But if he was right, if Stevenson or one of the other pilots was a trading secrets to the enemy …

"What's his motive?"

"Who?"

"Col. Stevenson."

"Oh," Hatfield looked down at his notes. "He is being forced into retirement and may be either looking for some money to add to his pension or a way to get even for being forced out. Really, it's about the same as everyone else. Your friend Lt. Jones for instance-"

"Joker is not a traitor," Scott stated firmly.

"Joker?" Hatfield raised an eyebrow.

"It's kind of a long story, but basically the name comes from his initials. They are the same as the acronym for 'Just Joking'."

"I see," Hatfield smiled slightly, showing the first emotion Scott had seen since the man arrived. "What's your initials short for?"

"Saint."

"Fitting," Hatfield sighed. "In any case, I admire your loyalty, and I'm sure that Lt. Jones is not the only one you would vouch for, but I am here to do a job and I'm going to do it … no matter who it leads me to."

He spoke firmly, but there was a hint of regret in his voice. Clearly this was not the first time he had to root out a leak among those who were supposed to be on his side. Scott knew he was going to do his job, and did not envy him one bit, but still prayed that he was wrong about this whole thing.

"You should probably get back to your duties before someone becomes suspicious. But first, take this."

He reached back into his briefcase, producing a small card and handing it to Scott. It was white with a phone number printed in bold black letters and the name 'Dan' scribbled underneath.

"I'm not going to lie to you, Lieutenant, the people I am after are dangerous. If anyone finds out why I am here, or that you know why I am here, it could mean both our lives. It's imperative that you tell no one. The fewer that know the safer it is for everyone," he summarized, tapping the card in Scott's hand. "If anything does happen to me, this is my handler's name and number. Call him and do whatever he tells you. Understand? Whatever has to be done to stop this leak."

He didn't say it, but Scott got the message loud and clear. If Hatfield failed, for whatever reason, he may have to take up the mantle. He may have to take down one of his comrades, his friends.

"For what it's worth," Hatfield placed a hand on his shoulder, "I really hope I am wrong."

After leaving the main compound, Scott needed someplace to think. The card was on his shirt pocket, but he could feel it through the fabric, a constant reminder of what Hatfield had told him. But he wasn't Hatfield. Was Hatfield even a real person?

"Hey Saint!"

Scott looked up to see a group of his friends heading towards him. Along with James there was Richard Coleman, called Radio for 'Radio Controlled' since he loved gadgets; Christopher Jackson, the lawyer wannabe nicknamed Justice for 'Criminal Justice'; and Michael Dobbs, called Doc since there was no better acronym for MD. Four out of seven of his closest friends, men he would give his life for. Was one of them a traitor?

"Dude, you day dreaming or something?" Michael asked, nudging his arm.

"Come on, we're on our way to watch East and Railroad try and kill each other at pool," Richard said happily.

Before he could protest, Scott was pulled along to the officers club where he was handed a beer and sat down with a front row seat to the game. Edward Saunders, named for the 'East Side', was facing off against Randy Redmond. After the second straight win by Randy, Scott had all but forgot about his meeting with Hatfield.

"Viva la resistance!" James cheered as Randy sunk another ball.

"Really, dude?" Edward rolled his eyes. "That ended, like, two months ago."

"The resistance will never die," James stated with mock severity. "Right guys?"

The other men who were part of the movie smuggling operation all nodded, except Scott. He was suddenly struck by how readily and openly James defied authority. Granted, swiping a projector and movie was a far cry from selling secrets to the enemy, but still …

"You still with us Saint?" Randy asked as he lined up another shot.

"He's just finally regretting his part in your little escapade," Christopher smirked. "I'm just glad I stayed out of it."

"I still can't believe they all talked him into it," Edward added. "With a career like his, you'd think he would have had the sense to stay away."

"Someone had to keep them from getting caught," Scott shot back, joining the conversation.

"Darn straight," James grinned, clapping his friend on the back. "He's with us to the end, right Saint?"

Suddenly the card in his pocket seemed to gain weight until it was impossible to ignore. Was he right in trusting these people, or was he drinking with a traitor?

"Right, Saint?" James repeated, eying him with a mix of confusion and concern.

"Right," Scott forced a smile, tapping his beer against Jame's.

his friend smiled and went back to cheering as Randy won another round. There was no way he was a traitor, or any of these guys. They were like his brothers, guys he could trust with anything … weren't they?

**/'/'/'/'/'PRESENT DAY'\'\'\'\'\**

Scott stepped into the small room, his mind seeing it as it was all those years ago. A couch had replaced the bed along the wall and the desk was different from the fine oak one Hatfield had used. Someone had repainted, replacing the dull gray with a pale blue. Far more cherry, but it failed to lift Scott's mood any. Pulling out a pocket knife, he knelt by the base board, about two feet from the edge of the couch. He had to scrape away some paint to make sure he had the right spot before prying off the base board.

"It's still there," he murmured, putting away his knife.

He reached out and took hold if the dirty file, pulling it free from the nook it had been hiding in for ten years. Scott looked over the yellowed pages, wondering weather he should just burn the darn thing. No, he told himself. He didn't have a business card with a name and phone number this time, no one to tell his family if things went south. All he had was this file, put together ten years ago, which may finally bring to light the darkest secret in his past.

* * *

><p>What do you think?<p>

Again, if I get a good response I will try to get the next part up before bed tomorrow ... oh wait, it's almost 2am. Make that before bed today. :)

BTW, I tried to explain the nickname thing in this chapter. Let me know if anything else is unclear and I will explain it asap.


	5. Chapter 5

Okay, so I didn't get much of a response on the last chapter, but what I did get was good.

This chapter is for Sunny and Thunderbird5 who have stuck with me from the beginning, giving me feedback all the way. (It really means a lot to me. Thank you.)

Bit of a side note, I just noticed that the last two chapters have been "Chapter 3", so I'm sorry if that confused anyone. (It's fixed now.)

Last, but not least,. enjoy ...

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><p><strong>Chapter 5<strong>

Entering the small office in the hanger, Scott carefully laid the file on the desk. Ten years had past since the last time he read it's contents, but the events tied to these pages had surfaced in many a nightmare. He sat down and flipped open to the first page. The list. Many of the names had been crossed off, but one was circled. The traitor.

"You found him, Hatfield," Scott murmured, closing the file. "But was it worth it?"

The hard truth was, it probably was worth it. Who knew how many hundreds of lives, civilian and solider, were saved because Hatfield had the courage to seek out the leak. Still, the cost was high. Too high. Scott once again opened the file, moving past the list to a copy of the last message Hatfield sent to Washington.

PRELIMINARY FINDINGS COMPLETE. FULL REPORT TO FOLLOW.

But he never sent the report, Hatfield never even finished it. Here it sat, half done, just as it had while it's author was out playing inventory inspector. Why did he have to try and keep his cover? What was the gain of keeping the secret after he knew the truth? Then again, Scott could ask himself the very same question. He closed the file and ran his hands over his face, letting them rest over his eyes, as his mind carried him back to that dark day when his life changed forever.

**/'/'/'/'/'10 YEARS AGO'\'\'\'\'\**

"I see your pancake and raise you two sausage links"

Shaking his head in disbelief, Scott tried hard to concentrate on his food and pretend he didn't know any of the men sitting at the table with him. Only his friends could turn a simple thing like breakfast into a poker game. The current hand had whittled down to James verses Edward, the others in his group cashing out while they still had enough to hold them over until lunch. A few of the other officers were not so lucky and had to go back for seconds. He just hoped word didn't get back to Stevenson, otherwise they would all be running off their winnings.

"I see your sausage links," James said evenly, glancing at his cards, "and I raise you a blueberry muffin."

"Bold move," Edward commented. "Too bold to be more then a bluff."

"Maybe, maybe not," James smiled. "Care to test me?"

Scott knew that look, cocky confidence. No way he was bluffing. If he was, his mood would be closer to that of a kamikaze pilot, the I-am-going-to-loose-but-I-am-going-down-swinging-anyway attitude. Edward didn't stand a chance.

"You might want to fold, East," Scott muttered.

"I know what I'm doing, Saint," Edward assured him, pushing his whole tray towards the center of the table. "All in."

James grinned widened as he did the same, before laying down his cards. Four queens. Edward cursed, throwing down his cards and leaning back in his seat.

"You should have listened to him," James smirked, picking what he wanted off the tray and giving the rest back. "There is a reason we call him Saint … several in fact."

"Yeah, yeah," Edward grunted. "Doesn't matter, I'll cream you next time."

"Only if you are dreaming, my friend."

Scott had to smile at their banter. They had the same discussion at least three times a week, which explained why Edward never bet real money. Fact was, James could have paid his way through college on nothing but his poker winnings. Of course being in the Air Force Academy made it unnecessary, but the talent was still their. If he had his way he may have turned pro, but his father frowned on the game and he was forced into the world of underground poker. Not that he minded. In fact, if Scott was to wager a guess, he liked the added risk of getting caught. He always was a daredevil … but how far would he go to get that thrill? Would he sell secrets to the enemy?

"Lt Tracy."

Scott looked up to see Hatfield by the door, motioning him to come outside. He had a grave expression on his face, one that never came with good news. Quietly excusing himself, Scott disposed of his tray and headed out to where the agent was waiting.

"Did you find something?"

"More then just something," Hatfield replied seriously. "I know who the leak is."

"You do? Who?"

Hatfield lowered his gaze and Scott felt as if a sledge hammer just slammed into his gut. It was one of his friends, it had to be. He would have told his immediately if it wasn't. But it couldn't be! Not one of them, not one of the people he was having breakfast with not two minutes ago.

"I'm sorry," Hatfield whispered. "Believe me, I wish it wasn't true."

"Which-" Scott nearly choked on the word before forcing out the question he dreaded hearing the answer of. "Which one is it?"

No sooner had the agent opened his mouth then the door of the mess hall flew open and James came out with a blueberry muffin in each hand. He gave them a curious look and headed their way.

"Hey Saint," he greeted warmly, casting a suspicious gaze over Hatfield. "You left so quickly, you forgot your muffin."

"Thanks, Joker," Scott said, forcing a smile as he took the muffin.

"Don't mention it. Oh, and we are both needed for drills."

"Now?" Scott unconsciously glanced at his watch. "We just ate."

"Not drills for us, thank God. Drills for the newbies. We just have to make sure they do it," James explained, before turning to Hatfield. "Sorry to deprive you of your primary and secondary escorts. You think you can do your inventory rounds without us today?"

"I think I can manage," he replied in the monotone voice he always used when undercover. "We will finish our talk later, Lt. Tracy."

"But-" Scott started.

"Later," the agent repeated firmly, and headed towards the first of their storage sheds.

Suddenly Scott had a very bad feeling and started to follow him, but James caught him by the arm. Suspicion, not confusion, covered his face and the eldest Tracy brother once again found himself wondering if he was looking into the eyes of a traitor.

"Where are you going, "James demanded, jerking his thumb in the opposite direction. "The PT area is that way."

"I know, it's just …"

But what could he say? He didn't want to believe that James, his best friend on the entire base, was a spy for the enemy, but at the same time could risk the truth in case he was. Thinking fast, he came up with a half-truth that he prayed would get his friend to lay off.

"I don't think we should leave him alone, especially in the munitions shed."

"Come on Saint," James rolled his eyes. "He is a grown man. What do you think he is going to do, play with the nitroglycerin?"

Before Scott could come up with an answer, a massive explosion threw them both to the ground. By the time he got his bearings and looked up, the munitions shed was nothing but a pile of twisted wreckage with flames licking the treetops.

* * *

><p>Anyone see that coming?<p>

Let me know what you think, meanwhile I will do my best to have the next part up by bedtime tomorrow.


	6. Chapter 6

Sorry to leave the last chapter off the way I did. (I hope none of you were too attached to Hatfield.)

Anyway, some of you were asking what the other Tracys were up to, so I tried to answer it in this chapter.

I hope you enjoy it ...

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 6<strong>

Scott knelt next to the scorched remains of the shed. Hatfield, Staff Sargent Falkner, and Senior Airman Lockhart; three lives gone in an instant. Preliminary findings supported the idea that the explosion was an accident. resulting from a combination of human error and bad luck. At least they got the human part right, but error and luck had nothing to do with it. There was no doubt in Scott's mind that this was not just faulty storage equipment, this was sabotage. More than that, this was murder.

"Anything new, Tracy?"

Scott kept his eyes on the ash and charred wood in front of him, barely hearing his commanding officer. What was he going to do now? One of his friends was not only a traitor, but a killer. But which one? Joker? Railroad? East? Radio? Justice? Doc? He couldn't see any of them could being so cold as to kill two of their fellow airman in cold blood, but Hatfield had all but named one of them as his murderer. Or maybe it was someone else. Lt. Col. Stevenson might have caused the agent to hesitate in giving the name, but that was almost more ridiculous then the traitor being one of his friends. Stevenson my not be the nicest of guys, but he would never harm anyone under his command. Then who was the killer?

"Tracy!" Stevenson snapped, getting Scott to look up. "Anything new?"

"No sir," he reported, rising to his feet. "The fire crews are labeling it an accident."

"I take it from your tone that you don't agree."

"No, sir," he stated firmly, turning to face his superior. "I formally request permission to conduct my own investigation."

"Tracy, you're a pilot and a darn good officer, but you're not a fire marshal and probably know as much about arson investigation as Jones knows about proper diplomatic procedures."

As much as Scott hated to admit it, he was right. He knew next to nothing about arson, and even less about how to identify it, but he still had to try. Three men had died today. Men under his command, his responsibility, had been taken out in a senseless act of violence by someone he was close to and he was not going to stand for it. Not if he could help it.

"I know that look, son," Stevenson commented with a grim smile. "It's the same look Jones had on his face when I announced the cinema was closed, a day before one of the projectors and a film went AWOL for a couple of hours."

The older man placed a hand on Scott's shoulder. The grip was warm and comforting, a gesture from a man who appeared as angry and trouble by these deaths as he was. It wasn't often that he saw Stevenson in any light other then one of full authority, but he was obviously taking the loss of his men just as hard as Scott himself.

"Once the official report is filed, that is that," he said softly. "But if you find something that contradicts it let me know immediately. I would hate to think one of my men could have done this, but if that's the case I will not let them get away with it."

Scott nodded in agreement, his gaze drifting back to the remains of the shed. His sentiments exactly.

**/'/'/'/'/'PRESENT DAY'\'\'\'\'\**

Pulling himself out of his memories, Scott took a deep breath and opened the file a third time. He set the list and the report aside, no need when he already knew the traitor's name. Next he came to the personnel files. They were only summaries, and only of the prime suspects, but there were still quite a few to go through until he found the one he was looking for. He had just started to read when a pulsing light caught his eye. So much for his family keeping their distance. Might as well answer, let them know he was still alive … for now.

"Hello John."

"Scott, you deactivate your GPS."

He sighed inwardly, knowing where this was headed. Honestly, he was surprised it took them this long to notice. He had deactivated the tracking device in both Tracy One and his watch as soon as he reached international airspace, just minutes after leaving the island. He had asked John not to track him, but he knew that wouldn't help. At least his family had held out this long without trying to interfere.

"I know what I'm doing."

"That's good, but the rest of us would like to know too," John shot back. "We're worried about you, Scott."

The words were unnecessary, since he could hear the emotion in his brother's voice already. He hated what this was doing to his family, and hoped he might make it back to them again. Scott hated to think what would happen to them if he didn't survive this trip, but he would rather die then risk any one of his brothers. His former friend had taken too many lives already and wouldn't hesitate to kill a Tracy. The best thing for his family was for them to stay away … if only he could get them to do it.

"I know, believe me. I wish this could be different."

Scott forced a smile, but he could feel tears pricking his eyes as he looked at John's face. He didn't know if this would be the last time he saw him, he prayed to God that it wasn't. Still, just in case, he might want to leave a few messages for the rest of the family.

"Tell everyone that I'm okay and thinking of them. I love you all. Goodbye, John."

Scott quickly switched off his com-link before his brother could answer. He than shut down his whole watch, just in case their space monitor felt inclined to turn on the GPS remotely. With his family safely out of the way, he looked back at the personnel file searching for something, anything, that he might be able to use in his favor. But even after ten years, he still knew more about the guy then any file could tell him. He had been a friend once, almost a brother, but now-

"Hey, Saint."

Swiveling around, Scott saw a shadowy figure just past the doorway. He was almost exactly the way he remembered him. His short blond hair was just as messy as always, but his brown eyes held only a fraction of the humor that was once there. He was dressed on khaki pants, an olive green t-shirt, with a smirk on his face and a deadly black pistol in his hand.

"Hello, Joker."

* * *

><p>Well? What do you think?<p>

Let me know while I get started on part 7.

NOTE: Good responses (reviews and alerts) encourage me to write faster. So if you want it sooner (like tomorrow morning before I leave for work) let me know. (Otherwise, I'll get it up by Tuesday.)


	7. Chapter 7

I know I was a bit evil where I left you off last time, so I wrote this as a sort of apology chapter. (Of course, it might make you think I am more evil ...)

Anyway, enjoy ...

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 6<strong>

James dropped onto the office couch with a heavy sigh and propped his feet on the coffee table. Nice to see that somethings hadn't changed. While he looked over the magazines around his feet, Scott turned back to the file. Nope, not much had changed at all.

"Saint, where is your gun?"

"In my plane," he answered absentmindedly.

"What?" James exclaimed, jumping to his feet. "You are here alone without protection? What if that back-stabbing creep shows up."

"I don't need a gun to handle him."

"You're right," James grinned, pulling a second .45 out of an ankle holster. "You just need me."

Despite the situation, Scott couldn't help but smile. He may have told his family he could handle this alone, but truthfully he was relieved to have help. But unlike his brothers, James was in this just as deep as he was.

"What?"

"What what?" Scott questioned, trying to figure out what he missed.

"You were staring at me," joker replied. "I mean, I know I look great and everything, but I didn't think that was the reason."

"Ah, no," Scott chuckled. "I was just … thinking."

He turned back tot he desk and saw Hatfield's report, Just like that, whatever good mood he had was gone. If only Scott had done one of a hundred things different, the agent might still be alive today. They all might have been saved. As if was, they never even got justice …

"Saint, stop it."

"What?"

He looked over his shoulder to see that James was now standing over him. Anger had replaced the humor in his eyes as he too looked down at the papers spread across the desk.

"Don't you 'what' me, I know exactly what you were thinking and you're wrong." James stated firmly, grabbing another chair and turned it around so that when he sat his arms rested on the back. "None of this was your fault."

"Joker, I was his contact. I was supposed to help him."

"And you did, better than I would have done."

"You don't know that."

"Saint, I would have punched him in the face for even suggesting one of my friends was a traitor."

"But I should have told you sooner, trusted you."

"And then I would have punched him in the face for even suggesting one of my friends was a traitor," James shot back. "And if you had told me, one or both of us would be dead right now because we wouldn't have let him go into that shed alone."

Scott paused, looking back down at Hatfield's report. He hadn't thought of that before. Of course he knew that James had saved his life by holding him back, but he had never stopped to think how they would have handled the situation had they both been in the loop. As hard as those days were, it was nothing compared to what it would have been had he lost James. He was his best friend, and even now, after all these years apart, he was still here to back him up. It was just like being with his brothers, just like home.

**/'/'/'/'/'10 YEARS AGO'\'\'\'\'\**

Scott slipped into Hatfield's room. It was eerie being around a dead man's things. Washington had asked him to pack up what the agent had left behind, probably since he was the only one who they knew wouldn't destroy evidence. If Stevenson had found the request odd he didn't comment on it, neither did his friends. Actually, he hadn't seen many of them since the explosion. Edward, Christopher, and Randy had stopped by the infirmary to check on them at various times, but other then that nothing. Of course, the whole base had a somber feel to it nowadays. They were not a combat station, more of an outpost really, and this was the first death that some of them had ever had to face. The rookies in particular were taking their fellow airman's loss very hard. All the more reason to find the killer and bring him to justice. He just needed to find Hatfield's notes.

"The desk is a little too obvious," Scott murmured to himself, opting instead to search his suitcase.

Nothing. He than searched the bed, the dresser, and Hatfield's briefcase. Nothing. Maybe the desk was the right place. He was digging through the last draw when he sensed more then heard a presence behind him. Whirling around he came face to face with James, fury and betrayal burning in his eyes.

"What is this, Saint?" He hissed, shutting the door behind him. "What were you two hiding from me?"

"Joker, I-"

But no more words came out. There was only one thing he could say without jeopardizing his mission.

"I'm not at liberty to say."

James simple gapped at him, looking as if he just spit in his face. Scott felt horrible about this, but he just couldn't tell him. He couldn't run the risk that he was the leak, that he was the killer. He tried to silently convey his apology, then they locked eyes and he saw the whole ranges of emotions that his friend was feeling. Anger was most prominent, but there was also hurt, confusion, suspicion, grief, betrayal, sorrow … that was it. There was no guilt, no shame, nothing that he would have felt if he truly was the killer. It wasn't him. Thank God, it wasn't him.

"Joker," he started, just as his friend turned to leave.

"What?" came the growled response.

"The explosion wasn't an accident."

That certainly got his attention, as James turned to stare at him. Scott swallowed before continuing. He didn't like defying direct orders, but he couldn't lie to him anymore.

"There is a traitor on this base, it's one of us. Hatfield was an agent for the world government. He came to find him."

"They found out and killed him," Joker said almost to himself, cursing under his breath.

Scott nodded. If felt good to finally have someone he could talk too, even better to not be hiding things from his best friend anymore ,.. but that meant that James was now in danger too. What had he done? If he lost him ... Suddenly he realized how pale James had become.

"Joker?"

"Saint, if they killed Hatfield for what he knew, then you might be next."

"Or you, now that I dragged you into this," he replied glumly.

James stepped forward, placing his hands on Scott's shoulders. A fierce determination had now taken over his expressive eyes, stronger then any he had seen before.

"Hey, we're together to the end, remember? Now let's go find out who this traitor is and show him what happens when you mess with the Air Force."

* * *

><p>Aren't you glad he is on Scott's side?<p>

Let me know what you think while I start work on part 8.


	8. Chapter 8

I meant to have this up sooner, but didn't realize how close finals week was. (But I will be finished with this term, at latest, Tuesday. YAY!)

Anyway, enjoy ...

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 8<strong>

Scot flipped through the few books in the room, wondering if Hatfield might have hidden his notes between the pages. Nothing. A muffled thud brought his attention to the other side of the room, where James had turned the mattress on it's side and was pulling out his knife.

"What are you doing?"

"Checking the bed," he answered, as if it were obvious. "He may have put the papers inside of it."

Scott barely reach him in time to stop him from gutting the mattress. Grabbing James by the arm, he switched into the tone he used when correcting Gordon or Alan; just enough logic and authority to get his point across without getting punched in the eye.

"He would have had to be able to access it easily, so he wouldn't have sewn them inside. Just check for any rips or tears. If those are not there, neither are his notes."

James looked from him to the bed and back, a grin spreading across his face. At least he took correction better then Alan. Instead of a kick to the shin, James just slapped him on the back.

"Excellent deduction,Watson," he said in a phony British accent. "I have trained you well."

"Sure you did, Sherlock," Scott shrugged him off and went back to the desk. "Now do you think we could try to use stealth from now on?"

"Hey, I always use stealth," James responded with freighted hurt. "How else do you think I was able to sneak contraband out of my principle's office?"

"And your father's office, and your commandant's office, and Stevenson's office," Scott listed off. "How exactly have you avoided a criminal record all these years?"

"Talent, my friend. Pure talent."

Talent was an understatement. When Scott turned back around, the bed looked as if it had never been touched. It was a good thing James wasn't the traitor, not even Hatfield would have been a match for him. That was it! James had a mind that rivaled the master criminals … and master spies. If anyone could think like Hatfield, it was him.

"Joker," he started urgently. "Say you had a bunch of papers that you didn't want me or any of the guys to find, but you had to be able to get to at a moments notice. Where would you put them?"

"Me personally?" James thought for a moment. "I'd probably put them in something easy to open that never gets opened, like a ceiling tile or a loose floorboard."

"Perfect," Scott said, glancing up at the perforated ceiling. "I'm taller, so I'll get the ceiling. You check the floor."

"You're only taller by an inch and a half."

"Taller is taller. Now stop grumbling and check for loose boards."

"Whatever you say, Watson."

Scott just shook his head and lifted the first of the tiles. Reaching up, he felt around the edge, but only found dust. One down, about fifteen to go. They had to find those notes … before Moriarty killed again.

**/'/'/'/'/'PRESENT DAY'\'\'\'\'\**

"So, do you have a plan?"

Pulled from his memories, Scott glanced up at James. His friend was looking over the arson report with pure anger burning in his eyes. For a guy who claimed to forced into the military against his will, he sure got defensive if anyone messed with it. Ten years ago their so-called friend had crossed a line, committing an act that was unforgivable as far as James was concerned.

"A basic idea. You?"

"Find him and finish what we started, by any means necessary."

As much as he knew it might come to that, Scott had hoped that they could avoid farther bloodshed. How, he was still trying to figure out. The tangled web that they had woven ten years ago was quickly becoming a noose and, if they didn't handle this delicately, they were all going to hang. Maybe he deserved it, but he still had to think of his family. If word got out about what really happened that day …

"Saint, do you hear something?"

Come to think of it, he did hear something. A very familiar rumble … they didn't! How- They couldn't- He was going to kill John. Sighing inwardly, Scott rose to his feet. He really didn't need another problem to deal with, and this one was going to be the hardest so far.

"Stay here, Saint," James ordered, cocking his gun. "I'll check it out."

"No!"

"Huh?"

"I mean … I'll go. You stay here."

"Right," James rolled his eyes. "I'll just let my unarmed best friend go investigate the strange noise while my guns and I wait inside. Like that's gone happen."

Unable to stop him without causing a whole lot of suspicion and bringing up a lot of questions that could not be answered, Scott could only follow his friend out of the hanger. Touching down in the middle of the airstrip was Thunderbird Two. He vaguely heard James curse in surprise, but it was mostly downed out by the roar of the engines. Hoping he could still avoid a confrontation between his brothers and James, Scott tried to signal them with his watch, before he remembered he had shut it down. A moment later the side hatch opened and three of his younger brothers stepped out. Maybe James wouldn't recognize them, it had been ten years since he had seen a picture of any of them.

"Holy-! Your brothers are- You- When were you going to tell me about THIS?"

So much for hoping, but at least he knew his friend could keep a secret. His brothers seemed equally surprised to see an armed soldier standing alongside Scott. They stepped forward slowly, their hands hovering near their weapons, as they eyed him with suspicion. James, however, seemed to relax slightly, even if he was still shocked at the arrival of the others. He just looked at each one in turn, probably trying to guess which one was which.

"Let me see … Gin, Vodka, and Terror."

While his brothers' suspicion turned to confusion, Scott knew all to well what James was talking about and turned to glare at his friend. No sense trying to hide it now, but he was going to set a few things straight … again.

"I told you, we are not calling them that."

"Why not? They're the perfect names."

"For drunks."

"Um," Gordon interrupted. "What are you talking about?"

"Nothing, Gin," James answered dismissively. "Just a little friendly argument."

"Why are you calling him Gin?" Alan questioned.

"GT," James grinned. "Gin and tonic."

"And Vodka is for vodka and tonic." Virgil reasoned.

"Yes sir."

"And I told you an hundred times," Scott cut in irritably. "We are not calling them that."

"But you've lost your main argument,"James pointed out. "They are old enough to drink now. Besides, there were no other good acronyms for them. I mean, what did you want us to call Gordon, Glad Tidings?"

"Where did you get Terror from?" Alan demanded.

"That's not-" Scott started.

"Absolute Terror."

"Hey!"

"Alan, it-"

"It kinda works."

"Gordon!"

"I like him."

"Joker!" Scott took a deep breath. "Everyone just be quiet. Virgil, how did you guys find me?"

"Tracy One," his middle brother replied. "When you shut off your watch, John remotely activated the homing beacon in the plane."

Dang it, why hadn't he thought of that. Too late now. At this point the other thing he could do was clear out his brothers just like the civilians … before they too fell into the hands of a cold hearted killer.

* * *

><p>What do you think?<p>

I have a paper to write for English, but I will get started on the next part as soon as that is done.


	9. Chapter 9

Hey, long time no see ... in this story anyway.

One of my friends reminded me of my new years resolution to finish all my active stories, and she suggested I work on the ones closest to being finished first. (I think she was hoping for one of my Supernatural fics, but this one has less chapters to write.)

WARNING: The following chapter contains some graphic images towards the end. Just thought I would give you a heads up.

Here ya go ...

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 9<strong>

Taking a deep breath, Scott forced back his rising frustration. At least James had taken the arrival of Thunderbird two as a cue to do a perimeter check. It was hard enough trying to convince his brothers to leave without his best friend's well meaning, but often disruptive, comments. Not that the lack of distraction had helped any when it came to persuading said brothers.

"It's not safe here," Scott said, as calmly and rationally as he could. "You need to go."

"Oh, and it's safe for you?" Gordon snorted.

"I know what I'm up against. I can handle it."

"You said goodbye, Scott," Alan argued. "You think we're just going to ignore that?"

"Look, if I can explain later I will, but now there is no time. Please, just go home."

"To get away from what?" Virgil questioned, clearly as frustrated as his older brother. "What aren't you telling us?"

"That's the big question isn't it," James answered casually, dropping onto the couch. "Look what I found."

He held up his old tin box briefly before focusing on going through the contents. Typical James. Turning back to the matter at hand, Scott tried again to get him family to safety before it was too late.

"Just trust me on this," he pleaded. "I know what I'm doing."

"You know we trust you," Virgil replied, placing a hand on his older brother's shoulder. "But don't you trust us too."

"He's got a point," James murmured. "How long do you think gum is still good?"

Scott ignored the comment, locking eyes with his middle brother. He could see the concern and fear there, also a sense of betrayal. Once again he hated what this was doing to his family, but he knew that pain he was causing now was nothing compared to what they would face if one or more of them were killed at the hands of the traitor.

"I don't want to see any of you getting hurt, but you won't be safe until you go home."

"That is true. Hey look, I found my yo-yo."

"You think it would be any better for us if you got hurt?" Alan challenged.

"Especially when we can help you," Gordon added.

"Can't argue with that," James interjected, studying the photo. "I remember that shirt."

"Who's side are you on?" Scott snapped, turning on his friend.

"I'm on your side," "You know that."

"Then why are you agreeing with them?"

"I said I was on your side," he shrugged, looking back at his box. "I didn't say I agreed with you."

Scott just gapped at him for a second before closing his eye, once again trying to push back his frustration. He had been hoping that James, at the very least, would back him up in this. Someone gripped his shoulder and he looked up, thinking he would see Virgil, but came face to face with James.

"Saint, I know you want to protect your brothers, I do too. Heck, I put you on that plane with them if I thought you would go. But like it or not, they're on your side too. Don't you think they deserve the truth?"

Though he knew what he said was true, Scott didn't want to accept it. He didn't want to drag his brothers into this bloodbath. Still, he did have a point. Looking into the determined faces of his family he knew they weren't going anywhere and if they were going to be part of this fight they needed to know what they were up against.

"Do you remember what happened when I was stationed here?"

"You mean when those people were killed?" Virgil questioned.

"That's what this is about?" Gordon inquired. "I thought they got the guy."

"So did they," James replied grimly. "But no one got the real story."

"Why not?" Alan wondered.

"Because they thought there was a traitor," Scott explained, picking up Hatfield's note. "The government official, sent to find out who it was, got killed before he could send out his report."

"Your brother was his contact," James interjected. "After he died, Saint had to finish what he started and find his killer."

"So you never found him?" Gordon guessed.

"No, I found him," Scott admitted.

Not wanting to see the reaction of his brothers when they found out the truth, Scott kept his eyes on the file and allowed James to take over the story. As he listen to the words he already knew, his mind went back to that dark day when he discovered the truth.

**/'/'/'/'/'10 YEARS AGO'\'\'\'\'\**

Scott was halfway through searching the ceiling tiles when he heard James cry out in triumph. Looking over he saw his friend pulling a file out of the wall, the baseboard laying on the floor nearby.

"Does it say who it is?" Scott asked, peering over James' shoulder.

"Keep your shirt on," he muttered, flipping through the crisp white pages. "Ah, here's a list."

Scott scanned down to the circled name and felt his blood run cold. No, it couldn't be. It just couldn't be him. How could he be the traitor?

"I can't believe it," James muttered, cursing under his breath as he snapped the file closed. "You know what we have to do now, don't you?"

Scott nodded, wishing he would wake up from this nightmare. Still, he couldn't deny the proof. Taking the file from James, he solemnly followed him down the hall toward Col Stevenson's office. How could he be the traitor? He was pulled from his thoughts when James cried out in anguish. Scott looked down and took in the horror that lay before him. On the floor of his commander's office knelt James, holding the lifeless body of Col Stevenson. Blood covered his chest from the gash in his neck as his empty eyes looked sightlessly at the ceiling. They were too late.

"Dear God," Scott breathed, not knowing how he found his voice.

Movement at the edge of his vision snapped his attention to the corner and the eldest Tracy brother found himself looking straight at the man on the list. The murderer and traitor himself, a bloody knife clutched in his hand, stared back with eyes as cold as ice.

"East, what have you done?"

* * *

><p>Anyone think it was him?<p>

Let me know what you think. Meanwhile I'll try to get the next one up, at latest, Monday. (Sooner if asked.)


End file.
